« PreviousContinue »
Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.
Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance the hay. Hol. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away.
Another part of the same. Before the Princess's
pavilion. Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, and
Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we de
Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that?
rhyme, As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, Writ on both sides, the leaf, margent, and all ; That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. Ros. That was the way to make his godhead
wax; For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too, Ros. You 'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd
Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; And so she died : had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might have been a grandam ere she died : And so may you; for a light heart lives long. Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this
light word? Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. Ros. We need more light to find your meaning
out. Kath. You 'll mar the light, by taking it in
snuff; Therefore I 'll darkly end the argument. Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the
dark. Kath. So do not you ; for you are a light wench. Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore
light. Kath. You weigh me not !_0, that's you care
not for me. Ros. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past
Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well
| This word was formerly a term of endearment.
2 In anger.
But, Rosaline, you have a favor too :
I would, you knew.
Prin. Any thing like ?
shrows ! Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you
from fair Dumain ? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin.
Did he not send you twain ? Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: A huge translation of hypocrisy: Vilely compiled, profound simplicity.
1 Marks of the small pox.
Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longa
ville : The letter is too long by half a mile. Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in
heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short?
Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so.
Ros. They are worse fools, to purchase mocking so. That same Biron I 'll torture ere I go. O, that I knew he were but in by the week !1 How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek ; And wait the season, and observe the times, And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes ; And shape his service wholly to my behests ; 2 And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! 3 So portent-like would I o'ersway his state, That he should be my fool, and I his fate. Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are
catch'd, As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd, Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school ; And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such ex
cess, As gravity's revolt to wantonness.
1 'I wish I was as sure of his service for any time limited as if I had hired him.'-Steevens. ? Commands.
3 I would make him proud to flatter me, who make a mock of his flattery.
Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his
face. Boy. O, I am stabb’d with laughter! Where's
her grace ? Prin. Thy news, Boyet? Boy.
Prepare, madam, prepare ! Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are Against your peace. Love doth approach disguised, Armed in arguments : you 'll be surprised : Muster your stand in your own defence ; Or hide
your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Prin. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid ! What are
they, That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, say.
Boy. Under the cool shade of a sycamore,